


Homeward

by Acephalous



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27927325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acephalous/pseuds/Acephalous
Summary: Tharkay comes home
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Homeward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookhobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookhobbit/gifts).



> For bookhobbit, who wanted to know: “What the heck is happening on Tharkay's estate postcanon?”

In the rolling hills in the north of Derbyshire, is an estate. At its heart is a manor house, old and much run down of late, growing more ramshackle by the day. The house’s large front windows face the rolling hills below, where sheep graze the green grass down, while the road winds its way down to the village.

Out behind the house the long neglected gardens have run wild, grown unchecked right up to the edge of the dark wood. Inside the house is quiet, and empty, most rooms left undisturbed by the small number of staff who remain to keep the place in repair as best they can. The disrepair had been generally accepted as the permanent state of things, until a letter arrived, with news of a rightful owner returning, and change in the air.

***

The long journey over, Tenzing Tharkay steps from his carriage, and onto the cobbled stones of the courtyard of his home. It is strange to think of himself as having a place that is his, a permanent home, and the thought sits as uneasily on his shoulders as the new clothes he has donned to try to make himself feel like less of an outsider. The staff have gathered to greet him, and he gives them a nod as he enters, ignoring their curious stares they hide behind the dip of nervous curtsies and bows.

Entering the house feels anti-climactic. He had expected to feel a sense of belonging or welcome, but he feels nothing of the sort. Perhaps if the front hall was not so dark, and if he was not so tired from his journey it would be different. But as it is the the last of the burn of triumph at having his claim to this place finally settled has died away. He had fought this fight for so long, but now Tharkay realizes he had given very little thought to what that success would be like.

Alone, in his new bedroom, all aired out and set to rights for his use, he slumps into the wing backed chair by the fire-place. It is a strange feeling to have fought so long to come home, and not feel like he belongs. His thoughts turn briefly to the invitation extended to Laurence and Temeraire, with a longing that surprises him. Perhaps the proposal will not suit them, he cautions himself. Perhaps they will not come.

***

The arrival of the new occupant of the manor house gets the gossip flowing in the village, and among the local farmers, as everyone tries to get the new man's measure. Eventually a consensus is reached: he is disappointingly morose, not given to smiling, and difficult to read. In his favour is that he is suitably eccentric: feeds his hawk at the table, makes inquires about the nearest location for high quality building stone, but shows no indication that he plans to build anything, hires a gamekeeper to look ensure the health of his deer population in his woods, but says he has no plan to hunt them. And after all, the locals agree, isn't a bit of eccentricity the sign of a proper gentleman?

Tharkay's arrival is the holds the attention of local gossip for all of two weeks, before the excitement of his presence is completely eclipsed by a pair of new arrivals. The newcomers are heralded by the shadow of dragon wings, flickering across fields. As the great shadow passes over them people find themselves freezing for moment, some long dormant prey instinct rising up, then cursing when they see their livestock running in distress. The shadow darkens the ground over the fields, passes over the village, then follows the line of the road to the manor house.

***

Since his arrival Tharkay has been keeping himself more than busy with the mess his cousin had made of estate's finances, and making list of all the things that have fallen into disrepair. It was work that he found alternately frustrating and satisfying. Today, bent, over a stubborn set of figures, he tilts his head as he hears the familiar sound of the wind kicked up by a large dragon's descending wing beats. If there had been anyone to see, he would have tried to school his expression to hide his excitement, or slowed his step as he heads to the door. But since no one is there to see he let's he fairly to the door, only stopping in the shadows of the door just in time to see Temeraire land on the unkept lawn. The back-draft from his wings stirs the leaves in the trees, and Laurence has dropped nimbly to the ground almost before they have stopped rustling.

“Well it is a large house,” Temeraire says doubtfully, to Laurence, “but it is rather shabby.”

“I cannot deny that things have been left in a sad state,” Tharkay calls, stepping out of the doorway towards them. “but I am doing what I can to improve things.”

Temeraire ducks his great head down towards Tharkay, and says, “Well I am sure it will look very lovely with a bit of care and attention.”

Laurence steps forward to greet Tharkay, clasping his hand gladly.

“It’s a lovely home” Laurence says, turning to look at it, “Thank you for welcoming us into it.”

Tharkay waves that off, full of elation, that his invitation has been accepted. “As I promised, plenty of room for a pavilion, or anything else you require. I have a promising lead on some stone that can be found at a local quarry.”

***

Down in the village the gossip has increased, although no one has time to discuss the new lord anymore: after all a dragon is much more interesting, and this one has a seat in Parliament! The dragon wings overhead frequently enough that the sight almost becomes commonplace, as does the roaring trade in sheep and cattle to feed him, and in stone for the pavilion he is erecting beside the old house.

Commonplace too, is the sight of Temeraire alighting on the village green to discuss local issues. As often as not this ends with Laurence try to convince Temeraire that while the latest local concern is a worthy problem, perhaps Temeraire shouldn’t try to upend all English laws at once. Equally commonplace is the sight of the new lord, leaning up against the oak at the edge of the green, watching them. A close observer would notice the flicker of a subtle smile on Tharkay's face as he watches the scene.

And in the evenings, as each day starts to fade, up at the manor house, Temeraire settles himself into the newly built pavilion, and in the house, lamps freshly lit, Tharkay lingers for a moment in his front hall, Laurence at his side, and feels at home.


End file.
